


Careful

by heartstrickledown



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrickledown/pseuds/heartstrickledown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Roche. Dan/Rorschach. Dan stitches up Rorschach's wound, and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careful

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
---  
  
  
"Just - sit still," Daniel told him. The pain in his arm was so severe that he couldn't think far past it; his thoughts kept rushing towards instinct, and the only instinct he knew was _fight._ But Daniel was good, firm expression ringed in sweaty brown hair and sure hands armed with sutures and antiseptic. When he rolled up Rorschach's sleeves, there was a hiss and a curse, but the distinction was lost to Rorschach, who only wanted to hurt someone in return.

"Okay, I think I can stitch this up." The smile he offered was meant as an assurance, but it was too thin; it may as well not have existed. "It's not too bad, just deep - shouldn't do worse than scar, so long as you keep it clean. Here we go. First stitch." It was odd to hear him talking like that; typically Daniel was more quiet and indirect.

By the third stitch, Rorschach had informed Daniel of his favorite color (indigo), his favorite sport (boxing) and his greatest accomplishment (bringing down Big Figure). The pain was more manageable, and he was grateful to Daniel for asking impersonal questions and filling in his curt answers with long replies. Once Daniel finished (hands bloody), he sat back and did not bother smiling. "You sure you don't want a painkiller?"

Rorschach shook his sleeve over his arm and stood. It was answer enough.

*

It occurred to him the next day that he should have _thanked_ Daniel; in the consequent surge of guilt he ruined a line of stitching and spent the next ten minutes furiously pulling the stitches and running it back under the machine as straight as he could. He refused to lose focus again.

That night, he attempted to clean his arm over Daniel's sink before Daniel came downstairs, to no avail. When he caught him, he made no show of it, plucking the rag Rorschach had soaked with alcohol and guiding him without a word to sit in a chair.

"I was wondering if you were going to stop by for patrol, but -"

"Thank you," Rorschach interrupted; he knew it was the wrong time, wrong tone, wrong place, but if it wasn't said it never would be and he owed Daniel at least that much.

He peered at Rorschach a moment. "I don't think you should patrol tonight. Beating up Knot Tops will only open the stitches again." What he didn't say was: "I know you won't listen to me, so kick more tonight, at least -" which was clear enough in the tired smile and slight shrug at Rorschach's reticent silence.

By the time patrol was finished, Daniel had to stitch in two new stitches, which he did without fuss or complaint. Rorschach didn't forget to thank him, that time, but afterwards wasn't sure that he should've - Daniel looked at him over his glasses and stroked the tips of his (calloused, he noted) fingers parallel to the line of his stitches.

"It's not a problem," he said, and he rolled Rorschach's sleeve down (careful, careful).

*

The only reason he went the next night was because he knew Daniel didn't want him in the way Rorschach sometimes thought he did (in the way Walter sometimes hoped he did), and that even if he _did_ he wouldn't act on it. Daniel handled his arm gently and rubbed a cotton ball over it with as much care and concentration as he must have dedicated to Archimedes' heart. When he was finished and stepped into Nite Owl, he didn't waste his breath asking Rorschach to be careful with his arm - but during the night his head tilted down again and again to peer at Rorschach's arm; and once, just once, he took his sleeve between his fingers, unprompted, and rubbed it.

He had to replace three stitches, that night, but he did without question. Rorschach did not notice the pain, and Daniel did not notice Rorschach watching him, incredulous.

*

It healed, slowly. Each night sparked their new routine, Daniel faithfully checking the wound and doing what he could to encourage healing. Rorschach wasn't used to being treated with such consistent kindness, even with the two years he had known Daniel. There'd never been occasion for Daniel to step past the sound boundaries they had of handshakes and pats on the shoulder, firm camaraderie that brought nothing into question. It was almost nice, having some decisive attention. Indulgent, too, but it would have been more than impolite to brush Daniel off, so he didn't.

*

Daniel took the time to pull the stitches out, careful as always and brushing his thumb after each empty span of skin. It was an effort to sit still, skin on the back of his neck prickling. Daniel maintained such a narrow focus, inexplicable and yet impossible to deny (_he only sees you_). Rorschach wanted to say many things, none of which would be appropriate - and as the last stitch was removed, he couldn't summon anything from his throat.

"Okay," Daniel said, grinning. "Looks like you're all set."

'Yes," Rorschach replied lamely. He watched Daniel scrape the stitches off the table and throw them away, snapping the first aid kit closed. "Daniel, I - am very grateful to how you have helped me."

Daniel turned to him and leaned back against his counter, holding the edges. His expression was difficult to read, humble and closed.

"Know I've said this, but -"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. His hands remained clenched against the countertop, knuckles white. "You'd do the same for me." They stared just past each other, tension rippling the air. Rorschach didn't know where it came from or why he wanted to press it, but Daniel didn't let it persist. "So, uh, you ready for patrol?" His hands released; tucked into the pockets of his pants. Rorschach nodded and rose; they left together.

*

(In the morning, Daniel presses Rorschach into a chair and rolls up his sleeve, though there is no blood on his coat and there is only a red line left. Rorschach lets him.

He also lets Daniel roll up his other sleeve -

And he lets him tuck his fingers up underneath, palms sticky and warm on his forearms, and there is no occasion for the touch but he does not dwell on it.)  



End file.
